Loony & The Lion: A New Case for Sherlock Holmes
by 221butterbeer
Summary: Potter!Lock – Harry Potter/ BBC Sherlock Xover. SH/JW HP/LL. Sherlock shouldn't have survived the fall but John couldn't just let him die, even if it meant reminding him of the past life he left behind. After revealing to Sherlock the truth John had hidden since leaving his other world behind, the Consulting Detectives are faced with a case from none other than The Boy who Lived..
1. Chapter 1: Falling Star

**Loony & The Lion – A SH/JW Case**

Potter!Lock – Harry Potter/ BBC Sherlock Xover. SH/JW HP/LL. Story set Moments after the Reichenbach Fall and follows a rather unusual Case involving a certain Dark-haired Hero and his New 'Loony' Wife.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, as much as I would like to, and would not be sitting here writing fanfiction should I own these multi-million pound franchises.

**Chapter 1: **

He was still alive. That was a surprise.

Sherlock had originally expected his fall to send him under for at least half an hour; had the truck been there to cushion his fall. He realised the truck was driving away seconds after he succumbed to gravity but had nothing he could do to stop it, all he could do was pray for a miracle. Of course he had many backup plans formulating in his mind, but it was too late and his previous backup plan had involved Mori— His thought trail ended, time seemed to slow down and, he felt as if he was stuck in an all-consuming vortex between time and reality for what seemed like forever before erratically dropping out of the euphoria onto the all too real, rock-hard ground below.

The pain of colliding with the London pavement was near-blinding, but through his calculations, he had no idea why he was still alive. The carefully placed blood bags he and Molly had hidden just behind his hairline had burst open with the force of impact, and he can feel the blood smeared across his face and in his hair, dripping slowly down his neck onto the pavement below. Staring up to the heavens waiting for the mayhem to begin, he decided that although the stunt had gone wrong, the façade would still work if he went along with it as planned. Hopefully the all too realistic fall would be enough to fool those not in on the façade; especially John. He had to remember Molly telling him to relax, to keep his breathing slow and his eyes open no matter what. Despite the pain he is managing well; being slumped on his side was making it easier.

The homeless network – some of the only few he can trust to do this – crowd forwards, disguised as hospital visitors and professionals, a few as nurses and two doctors, with a couple of paramedics waiting in the wings. He keeps up the façade anyway and, sure enough, is proven correct when a couple of passing people (both office workers, mid-twenties, both single, looking for promotions, on the way to lunch) join the crowd.

There is a prick in the skin on his right hand, rushed and hidden, judging by the slight shake of the needle hidden in one of the homeless network's hands. Through the pain, he can't feel it working, although he knows that any second he will – There. His hand is going numb, the agony of the rest of his body (four pulled muscles, two cracked ribs – one on either side, a dislocated ankle and left shoulder, a broken wrist and concussion) slowly subsiding thanks to the drugs. Sounds begin to slur, as the world starts to spin - the whole world slows down and speeds up all at once. He shoves the unwelcome feeling down, pushes everything away and prays his heartbeat slows enough in time. If anyone suspects, if John suspected…He couldn't bear thinking about.

He just lies there, staring, staring into nothing, as he waits for John to arrive; Limping most likely, due to the emotional stress causing his limp to re-emerge. Even with the drugs twisting at his mind Sherlock knows John is late. The stunt was carefully calculated, John should be here already. He had factored in the moments of shock, the time allowed for stumbling, being knocked down by the cyclist (Kevin, The youngest in the network but trustworthy enough, although he didn't know the whole plan) and getting back up again. He had worked it all out three times, John should be here. If he's not here then, where is he? Did john get knocked down too hard? No, He told Kevin not to be too rough, that he only needed a few extra seconds to get into place. If it wasn't Kevin, No, The sniper. It could have been the sniper. What if Moriarty never intended to let them live anyway? He refuses to consider that fact that simply, John had left him. He knows better than that. John wouldn't have done that – Would he? He resists the urge to sit up and look around, to check if the façade worked; that john was alive. But he couldn't give himself away. The game was still on.


	2. Chapter 2: Spelled right?

**Loony & The Lion – A SH/JW Case**

Potter!Lock – Harry Potter/ BBC Sherlock Xover. SH/JW HP/LL. Story set Moments after the Reichenbach Fall and follows a rather unusual Case involving a certain Dark-haired Hero and his New 'Loony' Wife.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, as much as I would like to, and would not be sitting here writing fanfiction should I own these multi-million pound franchises.

**Chapter 2:**

John knew something was wrong before he even got the call. He didn't know why, but as an army doctor he had learnt to trust his instincts; and on this occasion, like many others, his gut instinct was right. As Sherlock's normally suave and pompous voice wavered John felt his stomach drop. Something was majorly wrong. Under Sherlock's strict instruction John turned slowly around to face St. Barts , staring blankly at the skyline before he noticed. A figure; silhouetted against the stark white of the building, with an all too familiar coat's collar turned up against the razor-sharp cheekbones John knew were there. 'S-h-err-lock?' John stuttered, barely managing to utter a sound through his clenched teeth and body racked with an already all-consuming grief.

He was barely registering the words Sherlock was saying, his utters of 'fake' and 'magic' were words that John couldn't and wouldn't associate with Sherlock. He couldn't register, he couldn't think straight and the only thing that his brain was able to formulate was a constant reminder that he had to do SOMETHING. Heck. The person he was closest to in the world was about to commit suicide and he couldn't do anything to stop him. Standing there, staring hopelessly at the great coat and cobalt blue scarf of his best friend flapping in the wind, he heard a faint 'Goodbye John' and the line dropped dead.

Without thinking or caring about the secrecy surrounding what he was about to do John reached inside his coat pocket in a hasty struggle rummaging around for the token of his previous life that he couldn't quite bear to leave behind all together. He brushed against the smoothed oak with his fingertips feeling the familiar adrenaline it brought begin to rush through his veins. Without a second thought he pulled what looked like a polished wooden 'stick' out from his pocket and pointed it at his best friend who was rapidly gaining terminal velocity. Yelling 'Aresto Momentum' at the top of his lungs, John prayed that in the split seconds previously he had used the right spell to slow Sherlock's fall.

Sherlock never reached terminal velocity and slowed to almost a halt a few metres above the ground before falling the rest of the way at a normal speed. As blood spurted across Sherlock's face and a crowd of medical professionals surrounded him John turned away. He had failed. All he could do was wish he had never left his other world behind. He could have saved him. He had always wondered how Sherlock had never noticed the small amounts of magic he used around the flat but for the greatest detective in Europe, and most probably the world, Sherlock sure was unobservant to everyday occurrences. He hadn't quite grasped the fact that tea doesn't normally 'just make itself' whenever somebody wanted a cuppa and more biscuits flying out of the kitchen when they run out isn't quite normal. But John was thankful for these moments of Sherlock being oblivious to his magic; to be truthful, John missed his previous life, but after his injury he felt he needed a life without danger. Soon after leaving he realised he missed the action of his job with the ministry so Sherlock had come as a welcomed and much loved alternative.

For what felt like forever John stood on the edge of the curb, staring at Sherlock's body and recalling all the other spells he could have used to save him (Goddammit John – Wingardium Leviosa!) when he noticed it. A faint twitch of Sherlock's left foot that only a man who had lived with Sherlock Holmes himself would happen to notice. His training had not failed him, but Sherlock was playing a damn good façade. He had to let Sherlock know that he was onto him but couldn't go over to the body in case he gave something away with a severe lack of grief. Turning away from St. Barts he found the nearest security camera and stuck his middle fingers up to it. Within minutes a sleek black SUV pulled up beside him with the instruction to take him to Mycroft Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3: Stray Genes

**Loony & The Lion – A SH/JW Case**

Potter!Lock – Harry Potter/ BBC Sherlock Xover. SH/JW HP/LL. Story set Moments after the Reichenbach Fall and follows a rather unusual Case involving a certain Dark-haired Hero and his New 'Loony' Wife.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, as much as I would like to, and would not be sitting here writing fanfiction should I own these multi-million pound franchises.

**Chapter 3:**

'John Watson you really are an unusual one aren't you? I do see why my brother keeps you around.' Mycroft Holmes drawled from the window of his office in the Diogenes Club. He turned around, his standard black umbrella swinging from his arm, and smiled at John as he entered the office. Mycroft Holmes took a seat in the deep red armchair behind his desk and indicated for John to take the seat opposite; John hesitantly sat down and stared across at Mycroft. 'You could have asked for me more civilly John, A simple nod to the camera would have done it.' Mycroft said exasperatedly, 'You really are an angry little hobbit aren't you?' A quickly suppressed grin broke across his face as John just shrugged his shoulders looking rather content with himself.

'So John, Is it me you wanted to talk to or do you wish for my nuisance brother to join us first?' Mycroft asked. He looked up, but in noting the look of surprise on John's face Mycroft reconsidered what he had previously said. With a scratch of his head, he found himself weirdly surprised at his brother. 'He didn't tell you?

Mycroft's question was met with a curt shake of John's head and the mouthing of the word 'bastard'. Mycroft couldn't help but be surprised at his brother's lack of communication with his best friend. Knowing that John would be distraught had Sherlock, in John's untold state, really committed suicide (Why do people care so much? – It really isn't an advantage.) Mycroft weighed up the possibilities as to how John knew. Luckily for Mycroft though, Sherlock burst through the door into Mycroft's office. 'Mycroft I'm going to ne-' He looked up and stopped; dead in his tracks. 'John?' He uttered, looking solemnly at the man who was now up and limping towards him, gasping for an explanation. Sherlock tried for words, but nothing came; all he could do was mutter 'Not dead' before stalking over to Mycroft's desk, not being able to look John in the eye.

The tension in the room rose until Sherlock finally spoke, his normally fast and arrogant voice now slowed and steady; 'It went wrong' he said, sounding like a distressed child, 'But I survived. God dammit! _How_ _did I survive?' _There was a slow intake of breath from Sherlock's side where John tried to suppress his anger and the fact that he knew exactly why Sherlock was alive. Mycroft could tell by John's expression that he was reluctant to tell Sherlock the truth any time soon. Mycroft looked across his desk at the pair of them, sat side by side in Mycroft's new tartan armchairs but still refusing to acknowledge each other's presence. Childish; The pair of them. In Mycroft's mind he had always been and always will be the clever one, but it hardly took a genius to realise that secretly they were grateful that the other was alive. Sherlock would take out his phone, pretending to text (There was no fooling him though, brother dear.) and steal glances to his left to check to see if John was bothered or not.

After a while Mycroft knew what needed to be done. He was tasked with telling Sherlock a very long time ago, but never quite had the heart to do so. He had known the second Sherlock met John that it could be a problem, that Sherlock could work out that things were not quite how they seemed. But Sherlock being Sherlock didn't seem to notice anything out of the norm and had probably deleted any glimpses of magic he saw from his mind straight away anyway, as he just didn't know that it wasn't another normal, mundane, thing that 'just happened'. Mycroft didn't want to subject his brother to the mind numbingly huge world he missed out on by just a few stray genes, but he couldn't leave him sulking over why he was alive forever, he deserved the truth, if not just to save his, and eventually John's sanity.


End file.
